EVERY FAREWELL A NEW BEGINNING

As Mr. Fate prepares to relocate to the Washington countryside, he reflects back on 25 years of surviving life in the stucco killing fields of Southern California.

WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED & HOW DID I GET HERE?

As I sit here writing this with only a few weeks left living here in Southern California, my first, and most pronounced, thought is that it is utterly baffling that I have spent 25 years living someplace I don’t really like at all. It was celebrated architect, Frank Lloyd Wright, who once famously said, “Tip the world on its side and everything loose will land in Los Angeles.” An insight as accurate as it was prescient. And, I guess, at one time, I was, myself, one of those loose items.

Originally from the beautiful, idyllic Central Coast of California, I had a splendid childhood in one of the most gorgeous, tranquil areas on the planet. It was when I reached my teens and music took an inexorable grip on my world, I felt a preternatural compulsion to get to the epicenter of all the action: La-La Land, Tinsel Town, The Big Smoke. And so I enrolled in university, grabbed my guitar and boxes of records and headed South, like so many others before me, with stars in my eyes.

Prior to moving and after getting my driver’s license, I had spent quite a bit of time in Los Angeles going to shows, befriending like-minded misfits, getting into all sorts of punk rock mischief, and generally soaking up the sleazy vibe of the Shangri-La that was the LA music scene. The wild shenanigans on those weekends were so amazing and how much more so would it be when I actually got to live there full time? This was going to be the greatest adventure ever!

THAT’S LIFE IN HOLLYWOOD

And it was! For about six months. Once firmly ensconced in “Metrollpolis”, the glamour quickly dissipated and I realized that, while the music scene was indeed great, LA is pretty much a massive, frightful, and vile shithole. In the immortal words of Ray Villareal, “Other than the urban blight, vapid idiots, endless traffic, pollution, how people couldn’t care less about you unless you can do something for them or advance their careers, drive-by shootings, a psychotic indifference to anything resembling empathy, and lack of soul, Los Angeles is perfect.” Apparently, my sentiment wasn’t unique as an LA Times poll at that time showed, 42% of residents were dissatisfied with Southern California. My guess is that today, it’s well above that number.

Nevertheless, I found myself a bit stuck in that I still had more than three years before I could finish my degree and bail. I thought about transferring, but it was a very reputable university and I really enjoyed my studies. So, I committed to hunkering down and making the best of it. To be fair, for the newb in Los Angeles, there is a near infinite amount to see and do, and I tried to experience it all and had a blast doing so. I made a lot of great friends, began my music “career” in earnest cutting my teeth playing in real bands, and, of course, enjoying the company of the most beautiful and intelligent women in the world. Still, it was never home and I couldn’t wait to get the Hell out of this virulent cesspool.

After graduation, I ended up moving to Chicago for a bit as I got my first “real” job there in financial services. Even with the cold winters, Chicago is everything that LA wishes it could be, remains my favorite “Big City” in the U.S and I am glad I continued to regularly spend time there throughout the years. It was a blast, but I had already enrolled in a graduate program in Orange County. Don’t ask why. I still cannot provide either you or me any good reason why I committed myself to another two years in Southern California.

BEHIND THE ORANGE CURTAIN

I’m reasonably certain that I thought that OC would have some of the positive attributes of LA without many of the unsavory ones – and that is true. While still crowded, it is far more refined and devoid of the legions of vacuous showbiz cretins (such as the LA producer putz who coined the term “The OC,” that sadly has seemed to stick). While there’s a long, sordid feud betwixt LA and OC, I found life behind the “Orange Curtain” to be somewhat more tolerable, but it would never be home.

After graduate school ended, my life in the stucco killing fields continued. I got a break and landed my first “big corporate gig” and then my career took off like a goddamn rocket. All the while, I continued playing music and was able to finally achieve my dream of rock stardom, I bought a house, I met my wife. Things were great, seemingly going from strength-to-strength, albeit with a supreme deal of hard work, focus and determination. With both the work and band commitments, I still found myself consistently sucked back into the seething morass of Los Angeles, but having to visit LA is still nothing like the hell of having to live there (and I was much younger then too). Nowadays, I wouldn’t go up to Los Angeles to see Jesus Christ rassle a bear as OC historian, Jim Sleeper, once said.

FAREWELL TO THE STUCCO KILLING FIELDS

I’ve always felt like Southern California is not a place you live, but rather a place you survive. As I never loved it, my heart was never invested and, consequently, it was never really my home. But as I sit now looking back on a quarter century of life here, it is, indeed, a place that has, with certitude, made me – Me. All the wild and crazy adventures; playing every single club and music venue in the area; lifelong friendships; education; personal growth; a world-class career; family; and love- they all happened here. If you would have told me this when I was 16, I would have laughed, or more likely spit, in your face, but here I am.

To be sure, there are things I will miss dearly: watching the sunrise on a deserted beach on New Year’s Day, kayak fishing in the deep blue miles offshore, snow being a choice, the smell of roasting peppers & onions on a street cart a 2am while leaving a club, In N’ Out burger, totally legit aqua fresca, and most of all, the sheer hedonistic joy of an Oki Dog. But, La-La land ain’t going anywhere, so I can always visit and enjoy some of the dark delights from this dirty harlot from time-to-time.

As I prepare to leave forever to a place that, finally, feels like home, I’ve come to realize and appreciate that in a bizarre and warped fashion, my life would not be this one – the one that I love and cherish – had I not been here, had I not lived here, had I not survived here. And for that, Southern California, I give you a sly wink and a roguish smile as the door quietly closes behind me.